New British Canon

Between 1993 and 1997, music in Britain was dominated by the reign of Britpop. Copying the Small Faces and Kinks was back in vogue, everyone had a vested interest in championing either Blur or Oasis and the charts were infested with acts with names like Shed 7, Sleeper and Menswear. Emerging amongst this flag-waving rabble were the grungy, glam-splattered post punks known as Placebo. Fronted by the all-too sexual Brian Molko, they singularly led a charge against the backward-facing Britpop movement with rock music that thrilled, shocked and flirted in equal measure with songs like "Bruise Pristine," "Teenage Angst", "36 Degrees," "Pure Morning," "Every You Every Me" & "The Bitter End." But the most iconic and sleaziest of their 90s singles, "Nancy Boy," challenged gender roles and left a trail of bodily fluids in its wake. This is New British Canon and This is the Story of “Nancy Boy.”

Portishead did not want to be pop stars, they didn’t do interviews, rarely wanted to play live, they didn’t play the game. Yet their debut album, Dummy, quickly became one of the best selling albums of 1995, but not everyone understood what the Bristolian combo were trying to achieve. They stood in stark contrast to the contemporaneous Britpop moment, moody, modern and a supremely British take on American Hip Hop. On tracks like "Sour Times" and "Roads," they were beyond merely background music. The contrast between Geoff Barrow’s retrofuturist beats and Beth Gibbons’ conflicted vocals is best shown on the atmospheric heartache of their third single. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Glory Box.”

When you think of the first London wave of punk, most minds go to The Damned, The Sex Pistols and Clash. But just as essentially, there was also X-Ray Spex. They stood out, not least because of their saxophonist and the addition of reggae, pop and electronic flourishes to their version of punk. Contrasting the influx of white boys with guitars, the Spex’s lead singer was Poly Styrene: a woman of colour, 4 foot 5, with braces on her teeth and varyingly dressed in a neon bin bag or as a toy soldier. Unfounded rumours circulated about her being a trained opera singer, yet her forceful vocal acted as a shout-along rallying cry to all that heard her. Their legacy all started with their crucial debut single, an increasingly evident entry for the most influential punk 7” ever. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Oh Bondage Up Yours!”

British Pop at the turn of the century was in a state. Spice Girls had been and gone, All Saints were still on top, but for the most part the focus was on personalities being used to sell the songs rather than the actual music. There was an overreliance on covers and trying to cash in on what was popular. Compared to the slinky American R&B of Destiny’s Child, TLC and Aaliyah or the Max Martin-backed confections of Britney Spears, N*Sync and The Backstreet Boys, Britain's crop sounded undeniably cheesy. But in 2002 Richard X appeared. A producer with a thing for synergising classic synth-pop with 90s R&B, and he, along with the Sugababes, a teen-girl group on the edge of collapse, revitalised British Pop with his ice-cool underground sounds. This is New British Canon and this is the story of Sugababes “Freak Like Me.”

In 1980 Depeche Mode arrived; Kids armed with synths and squeaky bubblegum tunes. By the end of the decade they had twenty UK top 40 hits and had grown progressively darker, moodier and more industrial, but still pop. However in the US they were not mainstream, known mostly by listeners of anglophile college radio DJs and seen along with The Smiths, Cure, New Order and XTC as “alternative.” This cult appeal had made them one of the biggest US concert draws of the late 1980s, but they couldn't back that up in album sales. 1990's Violator would change that. And alongside “Personal Jesus,” its second single would solidify that after a decade as a band they could have the biggest songs of their career, defining Modern Rock-crossover hits in the process. This is New British Canon and This is the story of "Enjoy the Silence."

In 1996 pure-pop was dead in the water. Somewhat diluted versions of alternative rock and dance music dominated the charts. In the UK, Boy Bands like Take That and East 17 were the last vestiges of chart-pop’s once great kingdom, slowly being eroded by the Oasises and Blurs of Britpop. But then the Spice Girls barged their way in: a last hope and massive gamble. For the previous ten years, Bananarama and Eternal aside, girl groups didn’t sell. The accepted wisdom being that the main audience for chart-pop was little girls and they were only obsessed with boy bands. But kitschy, campy and fun compared to their straight-faced boy-band peers, the combination of Scary, Sporty, Baby, Posh, and Ginger were about to change everything. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Wannabe.”

After OK Computer, British guitar music kind of stalled. Britpop was dead. Travis and Coldplay were there leading the way, with Cast, Embrace and Stereophonics filling the gaps. It was anthemic, aspirational, acoustic but lacked energy and bite. But then the Libertines! Taking notes from The Kinks, Jam, Clash and Strokes they enlivened the British indie scene, singles like “What a Waster” and “Time For Heroes” reveling in reckless abandon, Wildian lyricism and tales about rock’n’roll valhalla. But by their first NME cover, the band were disintegrating under a wave of drugs, arrests and punchups. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Can’t Stand Me Now.”

Stuck between the studied indie of The Smiths and the stadium-bothering rock of U2, Echo and The Bunnymen were one of a kind. Shackled with one of the oddest names in post-punk, but yet adored by the UK music press, their psychedelic yet doom-infused first three albums set them up as one of the most exciting bands in Britain, with singles like “Rescue,” “A Promise,” and “The Cutter” slowly gaining them higher chart placings and a more rabid fanbase. But on the cusp of the mainstream, with the potential to be the biggest band of the 1980s, they went to France, changed their sound and put all their faith in a song their singer heard in a dream. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “The Killing Moon.”

Before PJ Harvey was a solo artist, they were the best rock band Britain had produced since The Clash. Amongst the shoegazers, janglepoppers and the last strains of baggy, PJ Harvey were Britain’s shining blues-punk hope, showing that we had alternative music just as vis-ceral, vital and loud as American grunge. With their first album, the three-piece stampeded their way into the ample praises of NME, Spin and Rolling Stone. But their 1993 major label debut stretched the limits of how violent, uncomfortable and darkly humorous a mainstream album could be; its title-track the unlikely duality of unforgiving fury and unrepentant desire. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Rid Of Me.”

In its original form, Synth-pop looked toward the future. Musicians making a guess at what the 21st Century would sound like. But in the 2010s, music at large just wanted to recycle what had happened 40 years ago. In bringing a forward thinking approach to dance-pop, UK Producer SOPHIE was different. Unwilling to follow the constraints of old and obsessed with the purest of pop, SOPHIE’s bouncing metallic second single laid the groundwork for Bubblegum Bass, Hyperpop and some of the most inventive chart-pop production in recent memory. But was the world ready for the future of pop music? This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Bipp.”

As you may know from watching New British Canon: 90s Britain was consumed by Britpop. But Running parallel to this, featuring louder guitars, more working class backgrounds and championed by Kerrang! was Britrock. Awkwardly wedged between these groups, Skunk Anansie evaded all classification. Led by their physically slight yet vocally colossal lead singer Skin, the band were a riotous mix of hard rock, dub and punk. Their social consciousness made it so they were always fighting an uphill battle, but their defiant music and live presence couldn’t be ignored. This is New British Canon, and this is the story of “Weak.”

Britain is not known for its soul music. But in the 1980s there was a nostalgic wave of British acts that were enthralled by the sound: Phil Collins was covering the Supremes, Soft Cell and Dexys Midnight Runners were in love with obscure R&B 45s and there was an influx of white-fronted plastic soul groups like Spandau Ballet, ABC and late era Roxy Music. But adding some legitimacy and heat to the mix was Sade. Their debut album Diamond Life defined the 80s for many, its warm sensuality the soundtrack for many an intimate moment, while singles like “Your Love Is King,” “When am I Going to Make a Living?” and “The Sweetest Taboo” quiet-stormed the charts. But who was this band? This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Smooth Operator.”

All the first wave UK Punk Bands had their own take/style on the genrething. The Sex Pistols were the troublemakers. The Clash were the political ones. Buzzcocks championed indie and pop-punk. But Siouxsie and the Banshees throughout their career were many things. Incompetent noisemerchants. Cold wave innovators. Jet black pop darlings. But most see them as the designers of gothic rock, even if the band hated the association. 1981’s Juju is their darkest, bleakest release, with tales of voyeurism, murder and shadowy magic, shot through with the fluid post-punk invention of guitarist John McGeoch. But yet it also features the band at their most pop, Siouxsie Sioux’s melodious siren call entrancing the Top of the Pops crowd as well as her Sioux-ettes. This is New British Canon and this is the story of “Spellbound.”

By 1997 Britpop was winding down. But Brit Rock had a new wave of bands that preferred heaviness to cribbing from the Beatles. Amongst this lot were Feeder, framed as the plucky underdogs. At first dubbed the “British Smashing Pumpkins”, Feeder hit the scene delivering grunge-affected heavy pop gems imbued with heart, charm and nostalgia for better days. Though they would score twenty Top 40 singles, their 2001 hit about a brand new car would be the one that remains glued in the national consciousness, in spite of their frontman’s enduring indifference to it. This is New British Canon, and this is the story of “Buck Rogers.”